


Star-Spangled Eyes

by feverbeats



Category: DCU
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And I could gaze deep into your eyes and call you Cap and say 'gee' and 'gosh,' but that won't work, will it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star-Spangled Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Captain America #25 and at some point after Nightwing #122.

_Some folks are born made to wave the flag,  
Oh, they're red, white and blue.  
And when the band plays "Hail To The Chief,"  
Oh, they point the cannon at you._  
-"Fortunate Son" by John Fogerty

The summer wind blows up through the city, bloody and hot and strange. Bucky Barnes grits his teeth and takes it. It's the least he can do.

"Go to Gotham, kid," Nick Fury said, so Bucky went. That doesn't make him anyone's bitch. It just makes him good at following orders.

_"Yes sir, Cap." _

After Steve's death, Bucky has a very hard time figuring things out. He buys a motorcycle with money Fury gave him and drives to Gotham to do the job, whatever it happens to be this time.

The buildings are too tall and the sky is too dark, and it's _too damn hot_. Bucky hates it. He finds a nice bridge to sulk on, eventually. Maybe he'll throw his phone off it so Fury can't call him anymore.

He thinks about Steve. What else is he supposed to do in this goddamn city that smells like death and cocaine and evil?

Declarations of love were never it. Steve didn't love him.

But they were. And he did.

He's not allowed to feel bad about Steve. This isn't Bucky's story. "This isn't my story," he says angrily to the dark water.

"Never is, is it?" a voice by Bucky's ear asks.

When he whips around, there's no one there.

Fuck Gotham.

*

It's pouring rain and Bucky has to shield his face to avoid drowning in it. He might like to drown, to take another few years off life. He had his chance at that, though. Now he's been reintroduced into the wild like a fucking endangered species, and he's not integrating himself very damn well.

He hears a soft laugh and looks up. There's someone standing a few feet away on the bridge, arms spread wide, letting the rain wash over his face.

The man turns and _looks_ at Bucky. And that's where it starts.

*

Jason Todd (_Tod means death in German_, Bucky remembers) has started following him. Everywhere Bucky goes, Jason is there, all shiny black hair and bright blue eyes and knives. It's creepy.

He shows up when Bucky is tracking a target in a park _seventy miles_ from Gotham.

"Go the fuck _away_, Red Hood."

Jason is wearing the hood today. He isn't always. It depends, but Bucky hasn't figured out yet what it depends on. Jason just smirks at him and tosses him a knife.

*

Bucky is kneeling in an alley, trying to reload his gun, when Jason descends from the rooftops.

"I bought you fries."

"Fuck off and stop following me," Bucky snaps, fumbling at the bullet with his metal fingers.

"That's what Dick said, too." Jason munches on one of the french fries.

"And did you?"

"Nah. Well, yeah, after I'd been turned into Japanese porn."

Bucky blinks, but he doesn't let himself get interested.

*

"Fine," Bucky snaps, after two weeks of this shit. He's sniping at someone from a rooftop, and Jason is there. He's not doing anything, just leaning on a chimney behind Bucky. How fucking _irritating_.

"Fine," he shrugs. "What?"

"Fine, I'll talk to you. Why the hell are you following me? We're not part of some fucking sidekick society."

Jason's eyes light up. "Wanna to go dinner?"

No, Bucky doesn't want to fucking go to dinner. "Yeah," he says, "Ok."

*

Jason takes a bite of his cheeseburger. "God _bless_ America."

"Stop it." Bucky frowns. "Don't do that."

Jason nods. "It's not funny," he agrees. He starts humming "The Star-Spangled Banner."

"I could do it too. I could talk about bats."

"You're on." He smirks that damn smirk again.

Bucky takes a deep breath and starts singing. "I, said the little leather-winged bat–"

"Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light–"

"I'll tell you the reason that–"

"What so proudly we hailed–"

"The reason that I fly at night–" Bucky's fingers beat a tattoo on the table-top.

"At the twilight's last gleaming–"

"Because it is my heart's delight."

"Ha," Jason says, "You ran out of song."

"You want me to start in with 'Rockin' Robin?' Because I can."

*

It's still fucking hot, and they're back in Gotham, because that will hurt Jason the most without doing any damage to Bucky. At least, that's the plan. Right now they're both drunk on soda and motorcycle fumes and yeah, maybe a few beers.

They lie side by side on a hotel bed, and despite the fact that it's the last thing he wants to do, Bucky is talking. "I'd trade me life for yours in a second," he tells Jason, throwing one sweat-sticky arm across his own face.

"Yeah? Beaten to death with a crowbar?" Jason asks in a careful monotone. He draws his feet (clad in kickass boots) up onto the bed.

"Not to death." Bucky did his homework as soon as this freak started following him.

"All right," Jason says, "Beaten almost to death and then blown up."

The thermometer jets up a few degrees and there's a short, sticky silence. "I've been brainwashed," Bucky says.

"Me too, a little."

"I still am. A little." Bucky feels something raw and open stretching wide inside himself.

"Yeah." Jason laughs unpleasantly. "Sucking Nick Fury's dick."

Bucky doesn't have an answer. That's what it is, not matter how he slices it. His guns and his bike and his clothes and even his fucking _body_, all of his pieces belong to someone else. "I kill people," he says.

"Who doesn't, these days?" Jason asks. "That's what you've gotta do. Otherwise, they come back and hurt you, again and again."

And Bucky _knows_ Jason's been bruised up in about every way a person can be bruised up, but something about what he's saying doesn't quite make sense. "That's why you're doing it?" he asks. "Really? Stopping the criminals from hurting innocent people, all that crap? That's why I'm doing it. Or you could say I'm doing it because I'm fucked in the head, and that's true too. But I don't think that's what you're all about."

Jason sits up abruptly and sheds his leather jacket. When he lies back down, the hot, heavy smell of the leather lingers in Bucky's nostrils. Jason's white t-shirt is shoved up over his stomach a little, and his body lies almost exactly parallel to Bucky's. "Ok," he says softly, "Why do you think I'm doing it?"

"For him," Bucky says. "For Batman. To get him to notice you."

Jason's on Bucky before he can blink. Jason's hands are fisted in Bucky's shirt and his breath is hot in Bucky's face. "Shut. Up."

"You're a fucking _psycho_," Bucky says, almost laughing with the knowledge that Jason can be pushed.

"I'm not a psycho. But you've gotta understand."

Bucky does understand. He knows how mentors can do things to you that can never be undone. Steve changed Bucky in ways that are still keeping him going today. He suspects that Batman may have changed Jason in _different_ ways.

Jason rolls off Bucky and reaches across the bed to pick up his mask, the one he wears under the hood. "Just a domino," he says. "Not much of anything. Except that it is. Everything. All the names."

Bucky nods. "It was different with you. Steve . . . loved me."

"Made you call him sir."

Jason can't _know_, but that, but still–"Never _made_ me do anything."

"Fine. Well, Bruce did love me. Too much, probably. And there's a memorial in the cave. A suit in a case." He makes an obscene gesture. "Never forget."

Bucky turns away abruptly. "Thunderstorm's coming."

"Snow, more likely."

"You're out of your mind. It's eighty degrees."

Jason's eyes go dark. "Yeah. Ok. Fine. Whatever."

Bucky laugh, upset and confused and not ready to deal. "We're not the right people to be helping each other."

Jason looks at Bucky, and for a minute Bucky doesn't see Robin, Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Hood again. He sees a guy in his twenties; a guy with black hair, blue eyes, and psychological issues. Jason's confusing like that. Bucky suspects that he's always been a bit of a headfuck. Finally, Jason says, "Yeah, you're right. This was a stupid idea. You can't do anything for me. We can't work this. We could try, but . . ."

Bucky nods. "And I could gaze deep into your eyes and call you Cap and say 'gee' and 'gosh,' but that won't work, will it?"

Jason says softly, "And you could dress me in the Robin suit and hold me down and call me a good _soldier_. But that wouldn't work either."

"Good soldier?" Bucky asks, surprised. "That's more my line."

Jason smirks. "Aren't I just full of surprises? Want a cigarette?"

"Bet you don't smoke," Bucky says, narrowing his eyes. He thinks he might finally have Jason's number.

"Yeah, guess not," Jason shrugs.

They lie in silence for a while, Bucky listening to Jason's breathing. It's soft and shaky and Bucky wants to–

To–

Well, no, he doesn't want to, at least he thinks he doesn't, but he does it anyway.

Jason's lips are surprisingly soft, and he tastes like artificial cherry flavoring, a surprise, or maybe not. "_Jay_," Bucky says.

Jason's breath catches oddly in his throat. "_Yes_," he whispers.

Bucky slides on hand (the real one) under Jason's shirt, shoving up the clean, hot fabric. Jason's skin is unnaturally smooth, and Bucky realizes, _no scars_. Jason's been just as artificially made-over as Bucky has, despite the sharp divide between magic and science.

The rain has started outside the window. Bucky can see it through the thin curtain which separates their room from the road. The glass of the door through the curtain blurs with rain and darkness, and the heat of the night makes Jason's hand sticky on Bucky's stomach. Bucky realizes with a jolt that Jason is undoing his belt. He runs his hand over Jason's chest again, pausing to play with Jason's nipple. Jason shuts his too-blue eyes and bites his lip. "Fuck," he says softly, letting his hand fall from Bucky's belt.

Bucky realizes that he's supposed to be in control, here. As if he can pull that off. As if he's _ready_. As if he's even _touched_ another human being since Steve died. He shudders hard and lays his metal hand flat on Jason's stomach.

"Cold," Jason mutters, his eyes still shut tightly. Bucky lets the ribbing of his hand move over Jason's skin, and Jason leans up into the touch. "Yeah, that," he gasps. Jason really is insane, Bucky decides. Jason's eyes shoot open. "I want you to jerk me off with it," he says evenly, if a little hoarsely.

Bucky's biting his lip so hard it's bleeding, and he still doesn't want to be doing this. He yanks Jason's belt off, though. He lets his metal hand fall over the front of Jason's pants, and he sees rather than feels Jason's hardness.

Fine. He'll play, but he won't play Jason's game. "Take your pants off," he says, and his own voice sounds rough and stupid in his ears.

Jason complies, and Bucky . . . stops. "What?" Jason asks, poised uncertainly on the edge of movement.

"You. I can't," Bucky says. "You're wearing _Batman boxers_. I don't fucking _believe_ this."

Jason shakes his head, smirking again. "Doesn't matter, asshole. Guess they don't _make_ Captain America boxers anymore."

"_Shut up_."

Jason laughs. "You do love giving orders, don't you?"

"No," Bucky says, "But you love taking them." He pushes Jason back down, metal hand firmly pressed to Jason's chest. He's not going to let some stupid boxers get in the way of this. He holds Jason there for a second before beginning to lick his way along Jason's jaw-line.

For the first time since Steve's death, the red, bloody, and blue shield goes out of Bucky's head. He concentrates on the almost-too-full curve of Jason's lips, and then the _taste_, the fake, plastic, fruity taste of Jason's mouth.

Bucky shoves Jason's stupid, _stupid_ boxers down roughly with one hand, and Jason opens his legs almost immediately. Bucky tries to pretend that this isn't–that it doesn't–but it does, and he wants to fuck Jason, maybe more than he's ever wanted anything. He reaches the metal hand under Jason's ass ("Fuck, that's cold,") and _squeezes_.

He slides one perfectly controlled metallic finger into Jason, who gasps and twists. Bucky shuts his eyes and frowns. "Oh God," Jason says. "C'mon."

Bucky bites his lip until it bleeds again before sliding another finger in. Jason is panting now. "Bucky, Jesus _Christ_, would you just _fuck_ me?" Bucky nods and pulls his metal fingers out, but Jason reaches down and grips Bucky's arm. "No," Jason says, "With this."

Bucky wants to say something about _weird kinks_, or even kinks that don't make any _sense_ for Jason's issues, but he can't really cope with forming words right now. Fucking Jason with a goddamn metal hand isn't going to do anything for Bucky except piss him off. Whatever. He'd rather be pissed off then get off right now. He slides two fingers into Jason again, and Jason's legs are spread impossibly wide. _Slut_, Bucky thinks desperately.

He slides a third finger into Jason. Jason's hands are fisted in the covers, and Bucky realizes that he and Jason and both swearing. Different words, different reasons, but the important thing is that they're both doing it.

But the metal arm is _heavy_, and Bucky is sick of moving it. He doesn't need to. Jason is fucking himself on Bucky's cold metal fingers, gasping and cursing, black hair wild against the sheets. He looks wide open and vulnerable in ways that Bucky thinks he could never let himself be.

When Jason comes, his eyes are bright blue and his pupils are blown wide and black. Bucky thinks he can see all the way down inside Jason's head. He shuts his eyes. He doesn't want Jason to be able to see anything in him.

When Bucky opens his eyes again, Jason is sitting up and looking put-together again. "Hey, Bucky," he says.

Bucky runs his hands through his hair and doesn't say anything.

"Bucky. You want me to . . ."

"Yeah. Ok."

Jason smiles and unzips Bucky's pants.

Jason's lips are still soft and too-pink and maybe it's chapstick and maybe it's fucking lipgloss, but whatever the hell it is, Bucky can't stop himself from saying a name, but the blood is pounding too loudly in his ears for him to hear it.

Jason doesn't seem to have much of a gag reflex. He swallows around Bucky's dick like he's been doing this forever. He probably has.

After a second, he sits back and grins. "Steve, huh. Guess you're a little worse at moving on than I am."

"Shut up," Bucky says, miserable. Maybe the difference is that he has something to bother remembering. He lies back, and the springs squeak. "You're good at that."

"Yeah, well, I've done it a lot." Jason drops down next to Bucky. Bucky rolls over, hot skin to Jason's hot skin, cool metal of his arm across Jason's chest.

"Tell me," Bucky says.

"Not much to tell." Jason's eyes are shut. "Batman. Nightwing. Robin."

Bucky doesn't have any stories. He's only ever been with one person, for all that he's good at giving head to the higher-ups.

"Hey," Jason says, "Let's get the hell out of here."

*

They go on the road together. It turns out Jason has a motorcycle too, and he drives faster than Bucky.

Maybe this is what Jason was trying to do when he got them a hotel room together. He and Bucky weren't alike, but now they are. Red Hood and Winter Soldier. Bucky isn't sure which one he is. He looks good in red, and Jason can be cold. But no. Jason is hot-blooded, and changing skins won't help them.

"We're gonna break, aren't we, Jason?" Bucky asks one night.

"No, baby. We ain't gonna break."

*

And eventually, if you're running and bleeding and eating and fucking together, you start to make sense of each other. And eventually, you buy each other shoes and put bandaids on each other and share Big Macs and get each other condoms, and even that starts to make sense.

They start to be good for each other.


End file.
